“Welcoming everything that comes to us is the challenge. This is the secret to being fully alive.” (Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, page 8)

Connection is like the air we need to breathe. Humans need connection — with others and with our own selves. When we lose connection, our natural response is grief. 

Loss of connection comes in different forms: the physical death of a loved one, or our own impending death. Loss may come from illness that forces us to give up activities that once sustained us. We may go through the loss of a relationship, a dream, a home, a community. 

Connection and the grief from loss of connection is a cycle that threads through every human life. We cannot escape it. Yet society urges us to “move on”, “let it go”, “get moving.” We have little room for grief. This is especially true with the death of a parent or long-time partner.

Truthfully, we may prefer to “move on”. Grief hurts! It’s one of the most painful experiences that humans have. Why not ignore it? Eventually, we discover we can push grief away, but it remains inside us, awaiting our attention. It will re-surface, often when we least expect. 

Grief is a process, not an event. It follows its own schedule and comes in waves, which may come over weeks, months, or years. Each loss triggers its own grief, which may re-surface earlier experiences of loss. Unfortunately, we receive little guidance on what to expect or how to handle grief. It’s easier to ignore it. 

Francis Weller is a psychotherapist focusing specially on grief. His book, The Wild Edge of Sorrow, is a wise refection on grief. Weller never shies away from the pain of grief but urges us to consider that grief can be a tremendous teacher, leading us to a deeper appreciation of love. Grief spotlights what we most value in our relationships and guides us toward how we want to live beyond the loss. Weller identifies grief as “a basic human need… a deep encounter with an essential experience of being human.” (Francis Weller, The Wild Edge of Sorrow: Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief, North Atlantic Books, Berkeley, California, 2015, page xviii) 

The early loss of my mother shaped my childhood. For years, I cried myself to sleep, pleading with God and the Universe that she would return. She never did. I grew up thinking no loss would be this hard. Over the years, I experienced other losses which were painful, but losing Mom was the most challenging. 

In my 40s, I got a rude awakening. Between 1996 and 1998, three of my closest companions died. Grief overwhelmed me.  

In 1996, my father died after a long battle with cancer. Dad was my first God, against whom I compared all others. He was my hero, teacher, parent, guide, and best friend. He was also my drinking buddy. We spent many long hours, fueled with gin, lost in conversation about books and great ideas. As the evening wore on, the drinks increased, and our conversation shifted to making up stories about the people sitting next to us in the restaurant. When Dad died, a piece of me died with him. Grief overwhelmed me, yet I could not feel much of anything.  

That same year, my dear friend and mentor Judy died. Judy was an Episcopal priest. She was on her way to celebrate the Sunday service when she collapsed from a sudden heart attack. Judy died at the entrance to the church doors. This loss, so sudden and unexpected — I had just been with Judy a few days before — felt unbearable. Everything in me wanted to scream, “NO!”

Two years later, another close friend died. Denver was also an Episcopal priest. But while Judy had been very much a mentor, and surrogate mother figure, Denver, who was close to my age, was like a brother. I sat at Denver’s bedside with a few close friends, as he took his final breaths. He died after a long battle with AIDS. Now the battle was over. I was glad that his suffering was over. But the power of his loss grabbed me. I felt as though the floor of my insides opened and my guts would fall out.

One of the exceptional gifts I received leading up to and through these powerful losses was prayer. Judy, Denver, and a small group of friends taught me the power of prayer. The church community we were a part of had a serious commitment to prayer. Through the ups and downs in our personal and professional lives, we supported each other with prayer. We met weekly and prayed for peace and healing in our community and the world. We experienced profound intimacy and companionship from these years of shared prayer. 

As painful as the losses were, learning to pray through grief opened me up. Grief became life giving through shared prayer. These words from Weller are true: “Grief work (is) an ongoing practice of deepening, attending and listening. It is an act of devotion, rooted in love and compassion.” (Weller, p. 5)

Energy poured out of me to offer this power of praying through grief to others who were suffering loss. I created a weekly prayer group for anyone who was suffering through loss. The group expanded over several years, and I taught others how to facilitate it. I wrote essays about grief and prayer, which were published and distributed among several parishes.  

Unfortunately, grief is all but ignored in many church communities. The great irony is that death is a big deal in Christianity. What could be worse than the brutal execution of God’s Son, not to mention the betrayal by some of his closest companions? And with death comes grief.

Yet too often the message of the church is, Christians are welcome to cry on Good Friday. But by Easter Sunday, you better be overflowing with joy. 

Some pastors are skilled at sitting with those who are dying. Many clergy are terrific at leading funerals. But after the funeral, it’s time to move on. Forget the loved ones who remain. One problem is that little training is available to lay people. Many people (lay and clergy) view praying with others as an activity reserved only for the ordained.

The history of Christian art does not shy away from the suffering. Paintings through the centuries depict Mary and the Christ Child, Mary at the Cross, a Pregnant Woman with no place to give birth, the crucifixion, the betrayal, and the body of Jesus, lying lifeless in his mother’s arms, and so on. Artists have penetrated the heart of suffering woven through the Christian story better than many well-meaning church-goers. This is the encounter that Weller names:

 “… (G)rief is not a problem to be solved, not a condition to be medicated, but a deep encounter with an essential experience of being human… The lack of courtesy and compassion surround grief is astonishing, reflecting an underlying fear and mistrust of this basic human experience. We must restore the healing ground of grief. We must find the courage, once again, to walk its wild edge.” (Weller, pages xviii-xix)

QUESTIONS FOR REFLECTION

• Of the losses in your life, which were the most challenging? Why? What did you learn?

• Consider these three quotes from Weller. How do you respond? Do any of these resonate with your experience of grief and loss? 

1. “It is the bittersweet embrace of love and loss that sharpens our appreciation for those we love.” (Weller, page 26)

2. “…. (W)e are burdened by undigested sorrows… Far too many of us suffer from broken hearts that remain unattended.” (Weller, p 23)

3. “(G)rief is necessary to the vitality of the soil. Contrary to our fears, grief is suffused with life force. It is riddled with energy… It is truly an emotion that rises from the soul.” (Weller, pages 9-10)

In closing, here are words from St. Teresa:

“May today there be peace within.

May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love that has been given to you.

May you be content knowing that you are a child of God.

Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing, dance, praise and love. 

It is there for each and everyone of you.” 

― Teresa of Ávila

Feel free to post your reflections on this essay in the comments section. Thank you.